


Don't Lie

by ninhursag



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a harrowing case Sam is mad enough at Dean to really try to make it hurt. So he spits out a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Lie

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of confession fic lately. Confessions of love, confessions of trauma, confessions in general. This is my take on the emotional state of a confession.
> 
> There are things here that are typically warned for, but nothing explicit.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [supernatural](http://vaingirlfic.livejournal.com/tag/supernatural)  
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Sam looked stupid when he was drunk, Dean had noticed that the first time when the kid was twelve. He didn't look any better at twenty-two, all wet eyed and red-cheeked and like he was trying to glare Dean's face off.

"Fuck, what's your problem?" Dean muttered. "You think we haven't both had enough of a day without fighting over your trivial shit now?"

Sam snorted. His big, broad palms made a smacking sound as they slammed into the cheap wooden end table next to him. "My trivial shit. Oh, nice. That's nice, Dean."

Okay, that was the last straw. Dean pushed up, like he could push himself all the way into Sam's giant yeti face and stuff his stupid perma-frown up his ass. "I'm sorry, Sammy. Am I bothering you with my kid-killing ghost problem? Sorry to bother you."

"What kid-killing ghost?" Sam hissed, pushing his yeti face right back into Dean's until Dean could smell the whiskey stink on him, as bad as dad's on one of dad's bad days. "The one we laid to rest? Oh, wait, there is no we, because you got your ass knocked out when you fell into that thing's trap. You could have died, Dean."

"Oh, fuck you," Dean spluttered. He took a step back, but only because Sam was literally spitting mad and little brother spit cooties were not Dean's idea of a good time. "I thought it had another little kid in that room, okay? Not all of us can be fucking blasé about that shit."

No one had actually died other than the monster. Sam always had to freak over nothing. Sam made a twisted little face that was definitely going to get stuck like that and curdle milk wherever he went. Dean made a face back.

"You know what?" Sam muttered a second later. His expression smoothed out into a blankness that made Dean take another step away from him. "You're right. You don't need my trivial shit. Why don't you go on and save the children and get yourself killed doing it, Dean. All those cute, innocent little kids, right? That's what you and dad do, right?"

Dean hit the wall behind him before he realized it was there. Sam didn't come any closer, just gave Dean that same, stomach droppingly blank stare. Dean didn't know when the other shoe was going to drop, but he knew it was coming now, probably going to hit him in the fucking head.

"That's what we do. Me, dad and you too, man," Dean said carefully. Sam's face was still bright red, whiskey burned and his eyes were narrow. "Save people. Kids are people."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. They are. Too bad you didn't save me."

Dean's eyes squeezed tight and for a second he imagined it was Sam's long, thick neck he was squeezing instead. "Yeah, sure, your girlfriend dying is all my fault. I completely did it on purpose, asshole," he gritted out.

When Dean's eyes opened again Sam had a twisted half of a smile plastered on his face and his eyes gleamed green and bright, like he was in the middle of a knife fight and seconds from pulling a battle ending blow. Dean winced even before Sam said a word.

"This is about you, not that. You could have died today, Dean," he said, but that gleam didn't go away, didn't even ease off. This wasn't Sam's money shot. Sam just shook his head and took a step toward Dean, then another and another. Dean could have backed off, slid off the wall and gotten further away, but he didn't. "You could have died for someone we don't know, who doesn't know you. Doesn't give a fuck about you."

"They were kids, Sammy," Dean said and he didn't know when the anger in his voice, in his gut, had faded. It left him emptier, quieter, like Sam was the one sucking it out of him. "They were kids and that fucking spirit that fucking-- they were so little. When you were a kid, I'd have done anything to save you. Or to get someone else to, if I couldn't."

Sam's mouth curved upwards. He was in Dean's face again, lips parted, almost like he was smiling. "You didn't save me," Sam whispered, each word soft, but distinct, solid. "When I was a kid. When I was so little."

Dean blinked. His eyes were closed for less than a quarter second but before he opened them again there was a mouth pressed down on his. Hot and hard, whiskey bitter. Rough tongue. He tasted blood before he realized he'd bitten down. Sam's blood.

"What the fuck?" Dean hissed and wiped Sam's blood off his mouth, tasted it on his teeth and tongue. "What the hell was that?" Like he didn't know, like his heart wasn't thumping overtime in his throat like he was some old guy about to blow into a heart attack.

There was red on Sam's mouth when he pulled off of Dean, but now he was really smiling, full on and cracked open. "A kiss," Sam said, straight and easy. He took a step back and then another, until he was out of Dean's reach. "Did you like it? Because when I was a kid he told me I liked it."

"What?" Dean didn't recognize the voice. It didn't sound like his. "Who? Who?"

"Who," Sam repeated, and his tongue curled up, licking at his own blood. "Who. You sound like a fucking owl."

"Sammy--" Dean began but he faltered before anything else came out.

"I was twelve," Sam said. His mouth was still curled and his eyes narrowed, like he was threatening. But there was a clean line between Dean and the door and Sam's body was held carefully away from it. "He taught me how to kiss. And how to take it. Anyone ever teach you how to take it?"

"Not like you mean," Dean said. He didn't realize he was shaking, except that he could hear his teeth clacking, his words coming out all wrong. Stupid. "What do you mean?" Stupider, like he didn't know.

Sam just shrugged, still smiling, still flushed and wasted. "Want me to show you? Show you what it's like to get fucked real good? What's a little demonstration incest, right?"

"Incest?" Dean repeated blankly. Suddenly, he felt dead. He felt _dead_. Not that. "You can't mean--"

For a second Sam's built up blankness just crumbled. He blinked at Dean. For a second he looked like he was twelve again. He was twelve. Oh fuck. "What? You think that I-- that he-- no. No, never, Jesus. How could you even think-- Dad's like your personal hero."

Like that, Dean's heart restarted. It hurt, but things were pumping again. "Who then?" he whispered. "Just tell me who?"

Sam just rolled his eyes, smooth armor sliding right back on like it had never fallen. "Are you owl guy again now? It's a little late for that, okay? It was nobody. Nobody you'd remember."

"It's not okay," Dean said, but he heard Sam's voice as clear as if he'd repeated himself. Sam's smirking, bloody lipped, _you didn't save me_. "It's so not even okay."

"Well, it's going to have to be." Sam didn't wait for a response, just put his back to Dean and walked into the bathroom.

Dean sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at one chewed up corner of the bedspread. In a vague, disconnected way he wondered what kind of teeth had done the chewing. Moths or rats or some couple cheating on their husbands and wives. Some little kid.

Some little kid, flat down on the bed in a filthy, shitty, run down motel room.

Dean could hear the thick, nasty sound of someone tossing their cookies from the bathroom. Again and again and again. Sam, Sammy. He could taste Sam on his mouth. Sam's mouth, Sam's blood.

_What's a little demonstration incest?_

The water ran for a long time after the retching noises finally, finally stopped. When the bathroom door opened, Dean's head snapped up. Sam's eyes were red and and his lips were pinky and shiny, like they'd been scrubbed. "You're still here," Sam said. His voice came out cracked, used sounding.

Dean shook his head. "What kind of fucked up thing is that to say?" he hissed. "I'm not the one who leaves."

Sam gave him another narrow, nothing look. "Maybe you will," he said. "Bet I can make you."

Before Dean had a chance to say, bet you can't, Sam's long, stupid legs got him all the way across the room. Sam's broad, stupid hands on Dean's shoulders, grabbing at them, pushing them down. Pushing Dean down flat.

Sam grinned, showing all his teeth. Dean could smell toothpaste and mouthwash on his breath, like he'd been gargling for hours. He was heavy, thick bodied and tall. Dean shouldn't have been able to push him off, wouldn't have been able to if Sam hadn't been at exactly the right angle to make it easy to get leverage.

Sam didn't make a sound when Dean shoved him to the other side of the bed. He just looked at Dean, wide eyed. Waiting. Dean sat up, staring down at Sam, but Sam didn't move a muscle, just kept waiting.

"I'm not the one who leaves," Dean repeated, but the words came out different this time. Soft. Like he'd talked to little baby Sammy, Sammy in his cradle, Sammy tucked up against Dean's side with the Impala growling underneath them.

"Don't lie," Sam said, but it was just a whisper. "You almost died today."

Dean let out a breath and put a hand out, careful, like it might get bitten. Put his hand out and let it rest on Sam's chest, right over the heart. He could feel it, beating overtime and harsh, giving things away no matter how calm Sam looked.

"Dying counts," Sam said.

"I'll prove it to you in the morning," Dean said. Dean promised. Sam didn't nod, but he let Dean's hand stay where it was all night.


End file.
